By weewilkie

feathers fine

I'd hoped to pick up my Blipping again but my time passes and days find their ends barely begun. So I'm going to start here with this entry, write it quickly - get it down- and hope that this one leads to the next and on ...

Feathers then. My partner loves feathers, if a tiny one drifts before her she senses her mother close. Such fine things that lift us to another element. Feathers to fly, feathers to feel.
I pick up the odd feather when I'm out walking and gather them to this glass that sits on the window sill of my bedroom, our bedroom I should say. For I am with someone again, someone who sees her mother's protective heart in falling feathers. And I am lifted.

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